


Far Away From the Here and Now

by phxsphorvs (andsowefell)



Series: Starfall [3]
Category: The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:52:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsowefell/pseuds/phxsphorvs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer takes a road trip with Dream for a few days, and ends up accompanying him to the Dreaming for a month in exchange for some help and services. He leaves Mazikeen in charge of <i>LUX</i>, and when the time comes for him to return to the Waking World, he finds he isn’t quite ready.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far Away From the Here and Now

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t show this to Neil Gaiman. I KNOW you know he has a Tumblr.

_Lux_ smells almost subliminally of excellent food and sweet wine when he enters, and old leather and wood.

These scents do nothing to mask Dream's perception of Lucifer's aroma, cold and clean. It's like unleashing Winter in a kitchen. 

Purposefully, he walks toward the piano at the centre of the bar, toward the man seated before the piano, head bowed in concentration, powerful hands gliding dexterously along the keys with skill borne of years of practice. Dream harbours no doubt that, were the man to lift his head, he would see eyes the colour of topaz.

"Morpheus," Lucifer singsongs and continues playing, albeit slower and more quietly. "To what do I owe the honour?"

"I need information," Dream admits, no-nonsense as usual, and gazes at the blond through black eyes. Lucifer snorts, head cocked sideways, and stops playing entirely. Under his scrutinising gaze, Dream feels himself grow hot and cold, and he has a feeling that, were he able to blush, he would. Lucifer repeats his little noise, but it's accompanied by a smile this time. The cold, clean smell is stronger here. Dream finds himself leaning toward Lucifer, unable to help himself.

Still smiling, the blond hooks two long fingers beneath his chin and pulls Dream close, pressing a quick, completely nonsexual kiss to his lips. He burns cold against Dream's skin, and Dream sighs gutturally before pulling away.

"Why?" he asks, rubbing at his mouth, the taste of ice and pomegranates heavy on his tongue. Lucifer rumbles in his chest, those eyes lidded heavily, and shrugs.

"I wanted to," he replies. "Isn't that reason enough?"

"One might agree with that," Dream mutters vaguely, coaxing that musical laugh out of Lucifer again.

"Do _you_?" the blond demands. Dream shrugs.

"The bar's fairly empty today," Lucifer observes, and although the comment seems innocent enough, the suggestion is hard to miss.

"I must return to my realm before long," Dream protests, but it's rather weak already. Again, Lucifer leans in to kiss him, and this time, Dream lets him, even leaning into the kiss, and Lucifer is the one to end it this time.

"I'll be back shortly," he mutters, one hand resting in the small of Dream's back.

Dream waits.

 

Lucifer returns with a leather wallet, wearing faded jeans that hug every muscle and curve, tan boat shoes, and a white button-down shirt. He's combed his hair back slightly, ruining his usual I-woke-up-like-this hair. Aside from his posture and the (in Dream's opinion, unmissable) copper hair, he looks unrecognisable. No one, save perhaps Mazikeen, would know him for who he was. He snaps his fingers, and Dream's attire changes to a pair of dark jeans, white sneakers and a t-shirt that screams _behemoth_ in old-fashioned script from beneath a double-headed eagle. 

"We're taking what humans call a _day trip_ ," Lucifer orders. 

"I was under the impression we were... having sex," Dream admits, unable to keep the disappointed tone from his voice, and he doesn't know where it came from, but so help him God he can't lie in front of Lucifer, he _can't_. Lucifer shakes his head apologetically and leans forward slightly, not enough to be hunching, but enough to take the air of elegant pride from him. He looks like any average college student going to a bar. Dream finds himself intrigued by the transformation.

"I suppose I should try and sound more like a college student," Lucifer muses. "Ah, let's see. I'm Nicholas Larsen. You call me Nick. I'm from Orlando, Florida, and my dad didn't want me inviting my friends over for parties anymore, so he kicked me out of the house when I was 17. Now, I study at Stanford, and I'm a Psychology and Music major. In my spare time, I swim and play football. I draw, as well, but I'm terrible at it. And we're friends on a road trip. Your turn."

"What is _my turn_ , Morningstar?" Dream asks, one immaculate eyebrow raised. Lucifer rolls his eyes.

"Give me a false identity," he commands, looks up at Dream through filligreed lashes, and cocks his head to the right curiously. "Who are you for the duration of this trip?"

"I have no idea."

"Do you mind if I make you Polish?" Lucifer asks. Dream shakes his head.

"It does not matter to me what nationality I portray."

"Good. You're Tomasz Kacinsky, and you're from Danzig. You have to call it Gdansk. You could never afford college, so you put together your funds, bought a plane ticket to California, and met me. Ever since, we've been friends. Is that acceptable?"

"I believe so," Dream allows, letting his accent slip into something vaguely slavic experimentally. Lucifer nods, satisfied.

"I think I'd better practice my American accent," he sighs. "For the record, when I said I play _football_ , I meant that I play _soccer_. Bloody inconvenience, it is."

"I am quite convinced Americans don't use the word _bloody_ in that context," Dream mutters.

"Shut up, Tomasz," Lucifer grumbles in a flawless Floridian accent. "God."

Hearing him say _shut up_ is really a rarity, but hearing him say it in an accent not his own -and adding _God_ as profanity - nearly has Dream laughing out loud.  
"You don't -"

"I'm a twenty-three year old White man from Florida who spends his time among teenagers and other people in their early twenties. I _have_ to say 'oh my god'."

"Of course," Dream sighs, not wanting or trying to understand.

"I have food packed, along with clothes for the both of us, and I've got my phone in case we need anything. I have money in case we need to buy anything, and my credit card for motels. And false identities for us."

"How much were you relying on my answering your question about my being Polish the way I did?" 

"Not much, honestly. I knew you'd say that. Oh, and Morpheus?"

"Yes?"

Lucifer smiles. It's a warm, companionable smile, one that Dream finds himself magnetically drawn to.

"In the motels, we'll have as much sex as you like. We can't have you feeling cheated out of anything. That would just be _rude_ of me."

Dream feels the not-quite-flush in his cheeks again. Lucifer stands on the tips if his toes and kisses his cheek.

"I have to tell Mazikeen we're leaving. Wait for me, yes?"

"Yes," Dream sighs. 

Again, he waits.

 

The BMW rockets along the freeway, tires humming against the pavement, easily outstripping any lesser car. Lucifer has let down the roof of the car, wind ripping through their hair, teasing Lucifer's into a tousled mess and Dream's in every possible direction. He has a creeping suspicion it doesn't look half as attractive on him as it does on Lucifer. Perhaps shorter hair would be in order.  
"It's nice out. Very sunny," Lucifer observes conversationally, tilts his head back, eyes closed, sunlight illuminating his features, making him painfully beautiful. Dream feels his abdomen grow hot and the muscles in his thighs quiver. 

Lucifer places his right hand on Dream's thigh, fingers digging in gently. He's cold and smooth, and Dream can feel the burn of the Archangel's skin through his own jeans (and _shit_ but Lucifer is _delicious_ ). 

"This information you wanted from me, what was it?" Lucifer asks, drifting into the lane right of him. 

"It's not important anymore," Dream murmurs. Lucifer shrugs lazily, drumming his fingers on the Endless' leg. Dream can't help a little whimper. Lucifer hears it. He smiles.

"Motel?" he asks mischievously. Dream nods, breath catching in his throat.

Lucifer veers onto an exit, slowing the BMW considerably, and glides along the street. "When we find this motel, and we go in, you're my boyfriend," he half suggests, half orders. Dream nods, not trusting himself to speak. Lucifer smiles again.

"Hold my hand. We must practice at being boyfriends," he teases. Dream raises an eyebrow, but he laces his fingers with the blond's. Lucifer rumbles in his chest, clearly enjoying the contact.

They pull into a motel lot. Lucifer kills the engine, takes the key out of the ignition. Dream opens his door, surprised at how quickly they found a motel, and almost stumbles out of his side.

Another couple, a man and a woman, enter the lot. Lucifer ruffles his hair with one hand, braids his fingers into Dream's, and leads him into the motel. The couple follows them to reception, and the woman smiles at Lucifer. He returns a withering gaze.  
The receptionist, a tiny blonde with her hair curled elaborately and her makeup applied with an expert touch, grins at them from her seat.

"Help you, hon?" she asks. Lucifer nods.

"We're going need a room for the night," he explains and hands her a $100 bill.

"Course, dahlin'. Hold on, I have to give you yah key card 'n your change. Here's, uh, seventy bucks back, 'n you two cuties enjoy."

"Thanks," Dream says, takes the money back from her, and hands it to Lucifer. "Nick, your, uh wallet? I need it."

Speaking in colloquial tongue isn't entirely familiar to him, and he fidgets as he says it. Lucifer smiles.

Lucifer hands him his wallet and Dream pockets the money with an almost obsessive efficiency. 

They make their way to their room, and once inside, Lucifer locks the door, snaps his fingers (two suitcases appear), and shutters the window. 

"Lights out?" he asks Dream gently. The Endless shakes his head.

"I want to see you," he mutters, voice trembling, and edges toward Lucifer, eyes narrowed with affection. Lucifer sighs softly, drops against the wall, and pulls Dream close. They kiss, eager and demanding, and Dream hooks an arm around the angel's smaller form.

"You're beautiful, Morpheus," Lucifer sighs, and even now, when it's husky and laced with want, his voice retains its musical quality.

"Has anyone ever told you that?"

Dream groans into the kiss, and Lucifer twists his fingers through his hair. He deepens the kiss, lets his tongue brush Dream's experimentally, his teeth graze the elder's bottom lip. Dream mewls.

"Easy, baby," Lucifer breathes, plants tiny kisses along Dream's throat. The Endless goes hard at that, pulls himself together to avoid rutting his hips against Lucifer's, and fails spectacularly when the blond claws into the muscle between the small of his back and his buttocks. 

He lets Lucifer push him onto the bed, finds no surprise in himself when it rickets under his slight weight, because he's heard from Death that motel beds are usually of a terrible quality. Lucifer sits on his hips, long legs angled outward, and pulls Dream's shirt off over his head. Long, golden brown fingers find their way to Dream's collarbone, following the curve, memorising. Lucifer unbuttons Dream's jeans, slides them down effortlessly.

"You've only ever had girlfriends, correct?" Lucifer asks softly. Dream nods, trembling under him.

"So I'd be correct in assuming that I'm the first man you've ever had sex with?"

"Yes," Dream admits, hisses when Lucifer bites down on his jaw, hard enough to bruise and scrape, but not quite hard enough to cut. The hiss is quickly followed by a surprised gasp, Lucifer having snaked one arm around Dream's shoulders and flipped him over so he's sitting with his back against the Archangel's chest, his shoulder blade pressing into the hollow of Lucifer's chest, the blond's heart thumping audibly.

He can't help but feel gangly and awkward compared to Lucifer's powerful, slender musculature, and more so when he feels carved pectoral and abdominal muscles press against his spine. It's like being hugged by a statue. 

Dream lets himself go boneless as cool lips leave a trail along his shoulder, Lucifer's tongue flicking against his skin occasionally.

"I've wanted you for a long time," Lucifer sighs, pets the ladder or Dream's ribs. "I hope I wasn't too obvious."

"I had not noticed before today," Dream admits, lets his head fall back onto Lucifer's shoulder, and the blond kiss his neck. He's surprised at how solid and strong Lucifer feels against him, not nearly as small as he seems in comparison. Still, if he were to stand beside Destruction, Lucifer would appear tiny, Dream knows. 

"I really want you," Lucifer repeats softly, eyes half-lidded. "God, I want you. You don't know how much, Morpheus."

He cradles Dream's shoulders in his palms, lets him fall onto the bed gently, and repositions himself before the Endless. It takes Dream a moment to notice he's still fully clothed, and he suddenly needs Lucifer naked.

Quickly, efficiently, Dream unbuttons Lucifer's shirt, careful not to let the silky material catch or tear. He slides Lucifer's arms out of the sleeves for him, takes a moment to gaze at the blond's form, the inward curve of his waist and hips, the slant of his chest, before sliding Lucifer's jeans down his hips. The Archangel isn't wearing a belt. The jeans fit him perfectly.

Dream feels his jaw unhinge at the sight of Lucifer's entire body. He certainly hadn't expected _this_.

" _Are_ you male?" he asks, stunned. Lucifer shakes his - its - head.

"I'm a man because my vessel is male, or I think it's supposed to be. I'm sexless, myself. All angels are. We only become a _he_ or a _she_ after we take a vessel. I thought you knew."

"I didn't," Dream admits, eyebrows furrowed. "And your body is sexless, too."

"Well, I don't have a dick, if that's what you're alluding to," Lucifer sighs impatiently. "I'll explain later. Please. Let's just have sex. I'm... starting to hurt."

Dream turns away. "I'm not in the mood any longer. I need time to process this."

"Fuck," Lucifer snaps, shakes his (its?) head. Golden eyes narrow angrily, and the blond(e?) stomps into the bathroom angrily. 

Dream shakes his head, pulls his jeans on, and moments later, he hears muffled snarls and cries from inside the bathroom, accompanied by a thud. Probably Lucifer tripped or collapsed against a wall.

For several minutes, this goes on, Dream sitting on the bed uncomfortably, listening to Lucifer mewl and keen and growl, and suddenly, silence. Then, another thud, this time more solid than the one before it.

Dream bursts into the bathroom, expecting the Archangel to be unconsious or hurt, but Lucifer's curled into a ball on the floor, head bowed over his knees, breathing hard. When he raises his head, Dream can see the pulse flutter in Lucifer's neck.

"We should keep driving," Lucifer mutters in a small voice, and shock registers in Dream as he sees tears roll down the blond's cheeks.

Dream nods, not knowing what to say, and leaves the room. He swears he hears Lucifer start sobbing as soon as he closes the door, and his heart clenches painfully. Stunned, Dream pulls the _behemoth_ shirt back on, toes his feet into the sneakers, and makes the bed, hands trembling.

Lucifer exits the bathroom, as if on cue, trembling from head to toe, and mercilessly sends the suitcases back, shuts the windows, and slams the door. 

"Checkout time," he announces, voice cold and hurt, offended. Dream bows his head.

"Checkout time," he parrots. 

This time, Lucifer won't let him hold his hand, and he makes no attempt to hide his anger as they leave.

 

They're on another highway. Lucifer hasn't spoken a word since they left San Diego, and the set of his jaw, the wounded glimmer in his eyes, are enough to dig a splinter into Dream's heart every time he glances the blond's way.

"When you agreed to come on this trip with me, I thought you wanted to come as a friend. Not as someone who needed me to satisfy his libido. If you wanted to get off that badly, you should have had a stripper at _LUX_ stay the night."

The words are cold, blunt, and, worst of all, completely true. Dream sighs quietly. More tears trickle down Lucifer's face.

"And when I promised you as much sex as you liked, I was sort of hoping for acceptance in return. I know it's odd. We're all like that. We can't help it. What do you want to me do, ask Dad to make me a hundred percent male? Will I be enough for you, then?"

Dream rests his head on one hand, shame burning in him. Lucifer's right. Of course he is. Dream went into this with acceptance for the fact that he was going to have sex with the Devil, of all people, but the fact that said Devil was a sexless being was disgusting to him. Of course Lucifer is hurt.

"You don't want me," Lucifer finally guesses in a small voice. This is so unlike him, this humility, this smallness, that Dream glances over and bows his head, unsure of what to say.

"I don't know what I want," Dream admits. "I do not want to see you in this state. But neither do I want to force myself to love you when I don't even know what you are, Lucifer."

"If I was one or the other, would you be less uncomfortable?" Lucifer asks tiredly. Dream nods.

Lucifer snaps, and subtle changes come over his body. The delicate, slender muscles give way to harder, more prominent ones. His jaw squares and grows more chiselled, and his cheekbones jut more sharply than before. 

He's beautiful, but Dream finds himself wishing for the smaller, more elegant Lucifer back.

"I liked you before," he admits uneasily. Lucifer changes back, and this time, he adds a few additional touches, darkening his own hair to black, changing his eyes to deep blue, and making his skin paler. 

Dream feels his breath catch in his chest. Lucifer has effectively changed himself into a male replica of Amelia, in an attempt to please Dream. The only way he could have surpassed the gesture is by being Nada, and something about that doesn't sound right.

Carefully, Dream takes Lucifer's right hand from the steering wheel, trusting his judgment with only one hand, and pets the bones and hollows gently, marvelling at the hand in his own. 

Lucifer lets him.

“Lucifer?” Dream asks softly, not trusting his own voice, and Lucifer glances at him, those blue, blue eyes fixed on him in a serpentine stare.

“Yes?”

“The shirt you produced for me, what does it mean?”

Lucifer rumbles in his chest. “It’s the name of a band. I was feeling slightly narcissistic at the time.”

Dream doesn’t understand, but he lets Lucifer’s hand return to the wheel. 

The BMW continues on its way.

To any outsider looking into the interior of the car currently, the scene would have seemed a perfectly ordinary one.

They both know it isn’t.


End file.
